


You Belong With Me

by Aryun



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom/sub, F!WoL - Freeform, F/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26458276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryun/pseuds/Aryun
Summary: “By marking I would mean permanently . A bite into the neck so deep that it would take a long period to heal. And at such time, I would bite you again,” the Exarch explains against your neck, his breath hot and needy against the skin. He’s keeping his hand just above your apex. Deliberately .[Being rewritten. Ch. 1/3 complete so far.]
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light
Comments: 28
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

Looking at yourself in the privy mirror, you realise there is going to be trouble. The giant bruise on your neck is easy to see, someone will notice it immediately. You’ve had no luck covering it with cosmetics The past hour of experimentation resulted in your neck being far lighter than your face and the mark was more obvious than before. The sun’s beating down in the First, far too humid to use clothing to hide the mark. Running out of options, you’re not sure what to do. Thancred seems the most likely one to pry. The nosey bastard. You decide to do your best to just avoid him the next few days.

Urianger is no doubt a passionate lover. All sweet words and kisses, he drowns you in pleasure. He pulls release from you multiple times. It was an accident that he became your partner in the bedroll. You’re not lovers in a romantic sense, that’s for certain. However, you satisfy each other’s sexual needs and desires. There isn’t a day that goes by where you don’t crave his touch; his hands on your breasts, his large fingers stretching you and pressing that most precious spot until you see stars. Urianger is well-endowed. He slots into you perfectly, hips meeting in passion until he spills inside you. Sighing, you shake your lover from your thoughts.

Leaving your room at the Pendants, you head toward your nightly meeting with the Crystal Exarch. You deem the man far too tame to mention your choices, let alone question them. He will not comment on the state of your neck. Though you still have no clue as to his identity, you still take the time to study him at every opportunity. You’ve gazed at his neck, chin and even lips to look for any sign of familiarity. You surmise that a man like him more than likely remains celibate to focus his energy on saving the First and Her people. A shame, you would have invited him to the bedroll if there had been a chance. An amusing thought comes to mind; is his length crystalline too?

When you walk into the Ocular, you can _feel_ his gaze upon your neck. You pause.

“Is something amiss?” you ask, innocently.

“No,” he replies bluntly. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You inwardly groan at the question; there’s two meanings. It could be referring to the bruise at your neck or your recent fighting in Holminster. Though it’s not clear to which he’s asking about, you anxiously settle on the latter.

One gaze at the Exarch shows that he is pent up. His hands are fisted, the leather straps at his arms straining over muscle. His mouth is a tight line and his body language says he is angry. You have an inkling that his annoyance is that he deems you’re wasting your time on frivolities of the flesh rather than fighting the monsters ravaging the First.

“Well I did fight - and win - at Holminster, Exarch,” you explain. “And might I say that it took a lot out of me.”

You decide to play innocent with him, not having the energy to deal with his anger issues. Always fighting for some person or another, you’re not going to be interrogated about what you do in your down time. Quite frankly, it’s none of his business.

“Mhm, I can tell that you were _very_ thorough,” he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eyebrow quirking upward, you’re in disbelief that this supposedly stoic man is being sarcastic. You thought it not possible that he would have such an emotional range. Seemingly you were wrong. Gazing up at his face, you try to guess what he is implying. You shake away the thoughts and attempt to change the subject.

“At Holminster I noticed that the Forgi-”

“Sit,” he interrupts, his tone darker than before.

You narrow your eyes as you stare. His crystalline arm is outstretched with his hand gesturing toward an armchair located in the corner. It appears to be the one he perches on during your daily meetings; made of worn plush material with a single cushion in the middle. Turning back to gaze at him, you spot that his other hand remains tightly fisted. He’s still angry. At _you_.

“Exarch, what is bothering you?” you meekly call.

“I said **sit**.”

“Stop telling me to sit! Clearly something is bothering you. It’s unfair that you’re taking it out on me,” you blurt out. “ _‘Fight this’_ , I do. _‘Help these people’_ , I do. Each time you deign to give me a task you cannot complete I finish it for you! I’m tired, old man. I need rest. I’m sorry if I didn’t live up to your lofty expectations.”

After nearly shouting his head off, you eventually take the proffered seat. In part to soften his anger. You cast your eyes down to look at a particularly interesting loose thread on your skirt. The silence is awkward. On further observation, you notice that the Exarch has relaxed since you sat down. His hands now hang loosely at his sides.

“My friend, I must apologise. For pushing you into battle with little care and for thrusting you into the thick of the action,” his voice is noticeably lighter. 

You find yourself flushing at his choice of words.

 _‘Pushing’_. Urianger isn’t one to take you outside of the bedroll. He lowers you onto blankets, smothers you with sensual words and cries of your name. There’s nothing feral about the way he makes love to you. Would _he_ cage you within his arms? You imagine him pushing your back against the wall, hoicking your thighs up around his waist and taking you roughly as you cry for more.

 _‘Thrusting’_. Your lover thrusts inside of you with a passion, ensuring that you’re slick enough to take him fully with no discomfort. Foreplay often lasts a bell, if not more. Would _he_ hilt himself inside of you with little foreplay? He’d stretch you as far as you could possibly manage, slamming inside of you again and again until thrown into pleasure and he spills inside of you.

Your smalls are becoming uncomfortable, shuffling around in the chair you push your thighs together to ease the building need. But it does little to unwind the tightening coil.

“Warrior?” he asks, you’ve been silent for a bell.

“Ah…Exarch. My apologies, I’m exhausted,” you lie, not having the patience to deal with him. “I am sorry for my outburst, it was uncouth of me.”

The Exarch considers you for a moment. Standing less than a fulm ahead, you can almost reach out and touch him. You can see that although he is not a tall man, he is broad; _solid_. It comes as no surprise when he’d lead you through Holminster with sword and shield.

“Do not let it concern you any further, my friend. Let’s conclude here for today and meet again in the morn,” he concedes, retreating a fulm.

You blink in surprise. “Of course. I will update you then.”

With that, you rise from the chair. Your hair falls over your shoulder, tickling your cheek. Making time for a haircut is another thing to add to the ever-growing list of tasks. Finding the hair annoying, you push it behind your back. You can feel him continuing to stare at you from beneath the hood. Making the decision to leave, you take the first step toward the door.

As you stride past him, you can see his head turn to follow you. Grasping at the heavy handle, you manage to pull the door open an ilm.

 _Click._ The door shuts.

Turning your head, you find him. Above your head rests his hand, splayed against the wood. Standing so close behind you, his presence is _intense._ He doesn’t talk.

“Exarch?” you question, shyly.

He doesn’t answer, but he does move an ilm closer. You respond by shuffling forward until your chest hits the door. With your heart racing so fast, you would be forgiven for thinking it would jump right out _._ You can feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of soap of his skin and his air-dried robes.

“Warrior,” he says huskily. He moves one final ilm, closing the gap between you. Shivers like Levin shoot down your spine. You fight the urge to press the length of your body against him, to grind back against his crotch and ask him to take you against the door.

“Yes?” you whisper.

“Sit in the chair,” he commands.

The Exarch moves away from the door, freeing you from the cage of his body; you whine quietly at the loss. A few long strides later and he plants himself in the middle of the bed. 

Your time with Urianger is always tender. You enjoy his company; he makes you laugh, and you relax in his presence. But the passion is fleeting, after you cry his name in release and he leaves, you do not mourn the loss. The mysterious man sat before you sparks raw attraction. Something you’ve long since desired. 

Nodding in agreement, you amble back to the chair. The few short steps feel like they take a bell rather than a few seconds. As you sit on the cushion, you don’t know where to look, eye darting about the room.

“Look at me,” he commands, you immediately obey. “ _Only_ at me.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What are you talking about Exarch? I always look at you when talking to you it would be ru-”

“That is NOT what I mean” He interrupts - now that you’re finally seated, he rises from the bed and quickly paces over to you. Apparently he has lost all sense of giving personal space -- he’s right in your face now - his mouth remains impassive. You can feel his breath on your skin and you suppress a shiver, it’s hot and spicy -- from the food at supper. If you could see under the cowl you would expect to see him looking at you, despite the blockade it almost feels as if he is staring into your soul. 

“Who is the maker of the mark on your neck?” He asks you, blunt and to the point, your hands shoots up to try and cover the bruise. You’re not sure why you’re bothering, he’s clearly seen it now. You’re doomed, absolutely doomed. You fail to answer which bothers him further. Not a moment later he slams his hands down on the arms of the chair which causes it to shake, you jump slightly at the sudden sound and then immediately wonder if it hurt his hands. Shaking off your momentary concern the predicament that now surrounds you becomes obvious, you are caged between him and the back of the chair.

“Answer me.” He demands.

“N-No one, I ran in-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You look away, you can’t escape the man in front you -- all you can do is tell the truth, “Fine - It was Urianger. Apparently you feel the need to know about all my activities! I do have needs Exarch. Unlike the old man who lives in the tower, tells us a story of how this world is ending but does not deign to show his face!” you spit in anger. 

He is fuming. You should not have shouted at him. He raises his hand into the air with one swift motion. You cower, squeezing your eyes shut, preparing for the impact -- 

And jump slightly when his hand softly lands at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

You instantly thought he was going to hit you, instead he is gently caressing you, fingers massaging the skin from above your clothes. After a bell you hear a light rustling of fabric and gaze down to see him pushing your garment off your shoulders exposing the cream skin below. Your cheeks flush and eyes dart to his covered face, his mouth has curled into a smirk and you imagine his eyes are full of the same self confidence. You unconsciously lean your wary head against his arm, eyes closing in contentment, his fingers are working their magic and kneading out the knots around your neck. 

“Yes, I am an old man,” he explains, his voice husky “stuck in this Crystal Tower of mine. You have the right of it -- that much is certain. Nevertheless, I have needs - just like any one else.”

“I understand that Exarch. But why does my personal life matter to you?” You ask. Twelve, his fingers feel so good and you can’t keep from moaning. When the first escapes your mouth, the ministrations against your neck cease.

He growls under his breath -- you hadn’t heard that sound from him before. 

“You just don’t get it.”

“You’re angry that I have this bruise on my neck. I don’t understand why it matters to you. Quite frankly, it’s none of your business.” You grind out, now starting to lose your own temper. The Exarch growls at you clearly then, he doesn't even attempt to hide the noise -- is he a Miqo’te? He’s too small to be Hrothgar surely… you find yourself sliding down a little in the chair, to make yourself smaller - to appease him.

"It is my business," he says sounding possessive, "Because you belong to me." Emphasising each word in turn he moves face closer and closer to yours. You were not expecting to hear those words and you raise a well kept eyebrow at him, he talks as if you’re an object to be owned…that is to say, you wouldn’t mind being belonging but without your consent? No sir, that is a problem, “What in Twelve do you mean I belong to you!?”

The massaging of your neck pauses and his hand slides down to grasp at your shoulder - as the fingers move across bare skin you find a shiver running down your spine. With a sigh he replaces his hand with his head -- resting it in the crook of your neck facing the side with the love bite. Although you cannot see his eyes it would appear that he is inspecting it closely, he then pouts slightly, sighs heavily again and says;

“If I told you, that I wanted you to be mine,” he enquires, “What would you say?” 

You pause in thought for a moment and then reply carefully, "Make me forget my lovers touch, forget the making of this mark, make me think about no one except you -- then I would be yours." Admittedly you like seeing him possessive of you and your reply is made to goad him -- he completely fell for it. 

At those words the Crystal Exarch growls darkly again, this time you can feel the vibrations roll through your body like levinbolts, your smalls become damp as your need for this man heightens. You thought him incapable of such intense emotions but seemingly you were very mistaken. The fingers on your shoulder tighten their grip and dig into the flesh leaving red marks - his mouth hovers close to your neck. You can feel his breath on your skin increasing as he moves closer until his lips connect with the flesh. Freezing in place a thousand questions run through your head:

_What is he doing?_  
_Am I dreaming?_  
_What?_  
_Why?_  
_And again, what?_

“Exarch…!?” You cry out,

“Silence.” He whispers against your skin and naturally you obey his command.   
  
His other hand slowly glides up your opposite arm, the hair standing on end as it passes, the touch is gentle but with purpose - his fingers fleeting across your skin he moves across your shoulder and up the neck where he pauses for a bell. As if making a mental note of your skin -- where he can leave his own mark -- and then it unexpectedly cups your face. Your eyes widen but you nuzzle your cheek into the warm palm. Gods, did he always smell this good? You’re not sure of the answer to that. His hand then continues on and comes to rest…over your eyes. 

It’s only then his lips attack your neck again, almost in anger he mouths at your neck and alternates between sucking and biting. When he nips at your neck you startle the first time, your body jolting forward slightly but from thereon out you find yourself letting a moan escape your lips. He teases at the skin, sucking and using his teeth to ensure that an even angrier mark will replace the old.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possessive Exarch, Possessive Exarch, Possessive Exarch, Possessive Exarch,

You gasp at his ministrations; his lips are hot and greedy against your skin. There is no doubt that the new love bite will outdo the last in both severity and the expanse of which it covers. You will wear it with pride - a testament to the man who _tamed_ the Warrior of Light. Speaking of the man, you’re putty in his hands, pliant to every grasp and bite he bestows on you - yet his identity remains a secret. You wonder what will the Scions say when you tell them you have given yourself to the Crystal Exarch, you consider how you will break the news to your former lover Urianger, there was never anything more than friendship with the man but you’d spent a fair amount of time as exclusive sexual partners, shared many secrets and had become close.

Wanting to be closer to the Exarch your hands scramble over his cowled head you push him closer, he allows it and follows up by biting your neck, you can feel his sharp teeth poking into your skin. You can feel him shaking beneath your fingers and think – just for a moment – that he’s angry however it soon becomes apparent that he’s struggling to hold himself back; struggling to be gentle with you. The first thought that comes to your mind is _‘Why?’_ you would rather he ravage you, claim you, prove that you belong to him _._ Before you can communicate your thoughts, he finds his voice:

“Stand up.”

He pulls away and stands up straight, you whine at the loss of his mouth upon your neck and the warmth of his strong body, he towers over you once again. Watching him carefully, his mouth is impassive as he waits for you to follow his order - not wanting to disappoint him, you quickly rise to your feet.

The less said about your current state the better - your jumper is pushed off your shoulders and bundled around the top of your arms, your neck is a mass of purple and red marks and you’re breathing heavily trying to stop your heart from beating so loudly. However, it does nothing to stop the thrill pulsing through your veins, you gaze up at him to find out what he has in store for you next.  
  


“I will mark you as **_mine_**. Remove your top.” He purrs quietly, just loud enough for you to hear.

You flush from neck to forehead at his choice of words, your hands find the seam of your jumper and begin to pull it up -- showing your toned stomach. The Exarch’s hands ball into fists and his body tenses up when he begins to catch sight of bare skin, as you continue upward, he noticeably relaxes when there appears to be no further marks. Uncovering the bottom of your chest wrap and pausing, you suddenly feel embarrassed of showing yourself to this man, nonetheless you continue until you quickly pull the jumper over your head and down your arms. Now standing near nude in smalls and skirt you find yourself suddenly very interested in the jumper in your hands and begin to pick at a loose thread.

He steps forward, places both of his hands on your waist and tugs you flush to his body, or to be more exact -- flush to his robes. You push your breasts against his chest, trying to gain any semblance of skin to skin contact, when you feel only robes a whine escapes your lips. A large hand roams your back, exploring every inch of skin - taking care to not touch your covered backside he caresses you as if in a dream from which he will awaken. Your lust is growing, you wish he would undress and take you already -- all this teasing does is wind you up further, your cunt throbs in need of being filled. He opens your thighs with a knee and pushes it against you.

“So many years -- so many years I have waited.” He mumbles not so quietly.

“Years? Wh--”

His lips cover your mouth leaving you unable to finish your sentence, he did not realise how loud his voice was - leaving him in shock when you parrot that word back at him. Your eyes dart to his covered face, the hint of a blush is visible on his cheeks and almost as if in a trance you slowly cover his crystalline cheek with your own hand. Closing your eyes, you lean into the kiss, his lips are hot and greedy, taking from you and giving you no measure to deny him, his tongue softly probes at your mouth asking for entry. You part your lips and he slips inside, exploring every inch of you – you can taste him, and you need more. He pulls away panting, your first kiss had been hot and heavy but that hadn’t been his original plan, he wants to mark you; and that he shall do. Your push your body against him, your bosom against his chest and you grind your covered mound against his knee.  
  
“ _I cannot_ , _I will_ not allow you to lie with another. Do you understand my words, Warrior? **_I. Can. Smell. You.”_** He finally admits, his hands have wandered back up your body and now rest at either side of your hips, his grip is harsh and possessive – his fingers dig into your skin.

“I understand what you are saying, but why?” You ask with an air of innocence.

The Exarch outrightly growls, swiftly raises his crystalline arm into the air and brings his fist down onto the desk with as much force as he can muster. You quickly turn your head at the sound and watch as the wood splinters and cracks down the middle, it bows with the weight of the books and parchment contained within. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter before the final one. I'm wanting to finish all my half started things before I seriously write something new.

You startle at the sound of the broken desk. The first thought that crosses your mind is a concern that the Exarch may be hurt. That is quickly put to rest when you see it’s his crystalline arm that caused the mess. The next thought is to the damage to the invaluable books and papers that you’d both contributed to since arriving in the First. Annoyance bubbles inside of you until you see that his anger is obvious. Though unable to see his face, his hands are fisted, and his body is visibly tense. For a split second you fear that he will hurt you. It quickly dissipates when his solid hand moves to cup your cheek. The coolness of his thumb against the heat of your flushed cheeks sends a shiver down your spine. He passes the digit across your skin twice then pauses.

“You told me to make you forget. That is exactly what I plan to do. On this day I will mark you as mine and you will lay with no other. Do we have an accord?” he asks you. Finding yourself confused, you can’t comprehend what he means by marking. 

Your voice doesn't come as loud as you had intended. “You’ve already bruised my neck something awful. What do you mean by marking?”

The Exarch steps away from you, then begins to walk circles around you. Even as he moves, his head stays affixed on your body. Feeling like an  _ animal _ on display at market, you cross your arms over your breasts to find any semblance of decency. And yet you  _ don’t  _ hate the way he’s assessing you. Each pass across your front causes a small whimper of need to fall from your lips. On the final pass, he stops behind you. Taking a step forward, he pulls your back flush against him. Sliding his hand over your stomach, he pauses for a very long moment and then moves downward, past the waistband of your smalls. Your head lolls back against his solid chest, your eyes close and moan softly. He’s so close and yet so far.

“By marking I would mean  **permanently** . A bite into the neck so deep that it would take a long period to heal. And at such time, I would bite you again,” the Exarch explains against your neck, his breath hot and needy against the skin. He’s keeping his hand just above your apex.  _ Deliberately _ .

You blink once. Twice. Thrice. Then his words finally settle into your mind. Thoughts swim around in your head. Wondering if this is some cruel trick or if you’re mishearing the words, the mere idea of being permanently marked by him makes your vision swim. Your hands snap behind you to grasp at his robe to ground yourself.

“I can accept that,” you murmur in response. “Did my liaison with Urianger bother you that much, my dear Exarch?”

The Exarch considers you, gazing at your face.

“Yes,” he stated. “Now I shall erase every last memory you have of laying with him.”


End file.
